


What to look for in a bathhouse with a Russian

by cicada9603



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29174103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicada9603/pseuds/cicada9603
Summary: On Gilbert's birthday, Ivan dragged him to experience the Russian bath.
Relationships: Prussia/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	What to look for in a bathhouse with a Russian

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [与一位俄国佬去澡堂需要注意点什么](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28823793) by [cicada9603](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicada9603/pseuds/cicada9603). 



> Hi! This is my first English work, and I am pretty nervous on it. This work is translated form my original Chinese version, and as you know, English is not my first language, so there maybe a lot of mistakes.  
> This was a Happy Birthday fiction to the Prussia, but I chose the time during the GDR period.  
> So the original post date would be 2021.01.18.  
> Hope you guys enjoy it and please let me know whether you have any questions!

"Comrade, it's not good."

Ivan was standing behind Gilbert, who was writing, with his hands behind his back and his torso slightly leaning forward, looking down over the shoulder of his GDR comrade, who was sitting with his back to him, and his eyes fell straight on the document Gilbert was signing. It was a document that would not have been a problem to show to the Soviets, but the GDR really had no desire to cover it up, having long been accustomed to Ivan's overly intimate gestures toward him, and Gilbert would have felt slightly awkward if he had ever given up on the idea. Gilbert stopped writing, almost as a reflex, Ivan repeated in that too serious tone, exhaling a breath that still had a hint of mint in it, pressed against the side of Gilbert's hair flattened by the pillow, which was the toothpaste they would use in the morning. Then Gilbert dropped his pen, paused for a few seconds, and quickly turned his head. A scraping glance with Ivan's jaw, which was just about to recover, and Ivan still had a poker face.

"What's wrong?" Gilbert rubbed his forehead, he could quickly associate a lot of things, most of which were related to the Western side, and began to calculate whether he had to do something to protect himself from the wrath of a Soviet, "Did the U.S. launch a missile?"

That was the first thing he thought of, Ivan's tone sounded incredibly serious, like something really important was going on, and there were only a few reasons for him to put on such a face, and Gilbert could probably match any one of them. Ivan didn't answer him, and Gilbert looked over at his fellow officer, a little closer than fellow officers, but he couldn't find the exact words to describe this, and the Russian winked at him. The alarm was lifted in an instant, somewhat ambiguously, too playfully, and although the corners of his lips remained tightly taut, the muscles in Ivan's cheeks loosened considerably. When he was really in the bad mood, the bite was a little bigger, and Gilbert always thought about touching it to see if it was hard or something else to feel. He could always be caught off guard by his momentary wobble. Anyway, it didn't look like anything important, nothing to do with the United States, maybe the reason was so far off, maybe Ivan just happened to have a whim and wanted to have a harmless joke or two with him.

But the Russian just pursed his lips, not like Gilbert associate as immediately remove the mask of tension, but the body began to move, turn and walk quickly, wait until the door, Ivan stepped on one or two flute protruding floor, hooked a hand towards the Democratic Republic. Want to follow? The other side obviously meant it, Gilbert hesitated for a few seconds, he was confused, he still had piles of work on hand, he had worked overtime for a week for a very difficult project, Ivan was like an uncertain time bomb, no one knew what was going through his head at the moment. The whole afternoon is scheduled for the project to wrap up, in today may be completed, until then, Gilbert can have a good sleep in bed, followed by a long series of rest, no one wants to miss that.

"But I still have work ......"

"Gilbert! Are you coming or not?" Apparently Ivan did not have much patience, this is not a question, it is an order, like an unreasonable child from the parents can not get a beloved toy, Gilbert just rolled his eyes in the heart. It looked like his break would be a bust, this was a project with the Soviet Union, but the difficult Russian in front of him did not seem to let him go. But what else could he do? Gilbert cursory review of their previous dealings, has there ever been a time when he succeeded in convincing Ivan? The count tended to zero, and the East German's struggle was ineffective.

The stool moaned unpleasantly beneath him, protesting the atrocities Gilbert had vented on it, which made him look so rude that he didn't even take the backrest under the table, with the papers all spread out on one side. Ivan kept stomping back and forth, just a few dozen seconds, not willing to give in, waiting for Gilbert moved to the door and grabbed the German's wrists and ran out, but the thin wrists of Gilbert pulled out red marks. No sense of distance, everyone watched Ivan pulling a dying Gilbert Beilschmidt running down the stairs, almost falling, but the silver-haired youth did not make any unusual noise, anyone can notice there were two almost dragged to the chin black eyes on his face. Of course that was an exaggerated description, already white and not very healthy looking, and that deepened the obvious features of Gilbert after staying up all night, under the vigorous he just felt like he was about to fly, and if he could fly out of the building like his little bird he could barely thank Ivan for his efforts, just hope that the Soviets would not disturb him again to catch up with the project.

Ivan still didn't let go of him, still in the very cold season, stepping on the icy road needed to be very careful, so Ivan lent him some strength. Gilbert did not want to thank, he only had time to grab his jacket, and did not take his scarf and hat, was forced to shrink into a ball by the cold air. The man beside him laughed at Gilbert's red ears and nose, gibbering something the GDR didn't like to hear, but it wasn't like Ivan hadn't said it before, and had heard it for a long time, and Gilbert had always been laughed at a few times since they first met, when they were kids. At that time, he also retorted furiously, or he and Ivan wrestled in the snow, fighting to keep his body warm, but always Ivan won over him, pinned him down, the two panting and staring at each other. Now he wouldn't do that, just let the Russian talk, and the Gilbert pretended do not hear from him. He was deaf, he was dumb, and what could Ivan do with him?

But, with the development of time, history, feelings, relationships, ah also in constant motion, now Ivan to do what can not be so easy to guess.

Gilbert glared at Ivan, has long been unable to use the eyes to intimidate each other, that is no longer a small glutinous rice ball, Ivan in the end what to eat to grow up, can have such a tall, strong body, he can only tilt his head to see. There is a little bit of solar halo, can shake his eyes are blind, Gilbert is not used to too harsh sunlight, sunny just appear in this time, even God is not on his side it. Will he think of the subsequent development? Gilbert would not have expected more, but the scarf fell just right in his neck, furry tied his soft neck flesh, Ivan also incidentally rubbed the tips of his ears. It was not cold, but warm, Ivan took off his gloves and rubbed them a few times, perhaps because of this, Gilbert's face was even slightly hot, and the temperature passed through his ears too quickly for him to look at him.

With the weak sunlight as if it did not exist, Ivan led him to walk on the ice for ten minutes. It always reminded Gilbert of their old quarrels, holding their breath and ignoring each other, yet walking slowly through the snowy forest together, as if they would be lost if they didn't follow. His problems with Ivan always occurred in the winter, the coldest months, Gilbert can expect some external factors that melted them? Even a big fire must not be able to, the two are always so twisted, frozen pipes can not pump much water, the pressure will cut the torso when the accidental explosion. That is them, they and all the problems they have. Ruminations may be the winter norm, vitamin deficient, happy and cold enough to frostbite their asses. Gilbert tried to break free from Ivan's grasp, the shameful gesture having been maintained for some time, and Ivan shoved his hand into his pocket, inside which was a small, hot stove, and the GDR comrade was tempted to ask him where he had gotten it.

Inside should be red-hot charcoal, before he was the Soviet Union, the Russians also showed him the hand stove, Gilbert is not so much flashy hobby, he does not like overly fine carving, and hope Ivan does not overindulge in it only, at that time he can take himself seriously, always pointing, the Russians listened to how much is difficult to say. The two often disagree and quarrel but also maintain a long relationship, this relationship is much more distant than each other and Eastern European countries naturally, but than other countries in Western Europe, the two of them and more than enough layer of ambiguous yarn paper. The threads are a tight cobweb hidden under the lights. Dark under the lamp, but Gilbert could not see the transparent layer, like Ivan's lips pursed up when he was not smiling, a line, can not see what emotion good or bad. But Gilbert thought, he should be in a pretty good mood right now.

And so also came to the destination, the two did not say a lot of words, in the cold air to maintain an unspoken silence, so to speak, a tacit understanding, in fact, to save energy. Gilbert buried himself in Ivan's scarf, not convenient to look up and out, they stopped in front of a beautiful door, he then poked his head from behind Ivan. He hadn't been here before, or had he? It looked slightly familiar, and before he could find an overly vague memory he was pushed inside, Ivan pulling the door open with one hand while the other jerked his outstretched hand toward him, sending him tumbling into a comfortable warmth.

The warmth was rather adequate, more or less damp and watery, a vaguely sweet, frizzy back hair temporarily subdued, that was a moment. They were in a public bathroom, the infamous Russian bath, and Gilbert finally remembered. Look at the ceiling, with its blue and golden dome and painted, he recognized it at once. There is no way not to know that even if standing outside the door would be a little confused, once you come in, you can remember all the "torture", he turned around and tried to run, Ivan with a single hand can hold him in place. He had fallen for Ivan's trick! Numerous times, in this area of bathing every time something goes wrong, Gilbert can only turn his body, desperate to see Ivan skillfully take two wooden basins, in the waiter's guidance into the private room.

With a shower and a cold sink large enough for Ivan to rest the basin and some tools on the small raised counter, he looked at Gilbert, hoping for a little reaction from his GDR comrade. But what measures could Gilbert take? Everything was in full view, and with the two of them so close together, he suddenly felt hot, and the heating or turned on too much, even he could not stand it a bit. Ivan wanted him to take off his clothes, Gilbert certainly knew the rules of coming to the bath, first the shower, then rubbing, sauna and cold bath, did he look like he had any choice? Already squirming at the matter of undressing, Gilbert was still wearing his shirt from the previous days, looking wrinkled, and Ivan looked at him like meat on a chopping board.

"Can you turn around ......" Gilbert finally spoke, and under the gaze of his Soviet comrades he had unbuttoned the top button of his collar, and then he could not continue. It's not as if he hadn't been franked before, but the thought of showering in public doubled his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, did I embarrass you?" Ivan blinked, but did not want to move his steps, he remained in the same position as before: hands naturally hanging down, eyes glued to the top of Gilbert's fingers. After a few seconds, Gilbert saw him move, thank God, but immediately noticed that something was wrong, Ivan did not turn around, but also began to remove his shirt. This is not right! Gilbert's roar may have hung in his throat, but those muscles, for God's sake, he could recall the touch when he first touched them. The two of them alone in a small space, for Gilbert will still be some ideas on the problem around, Ivan is not aware of this, willing to show him the soft abdomen. The democratic German can only resign himself to speed up the movement of undress in his hands, a button is difficult for him, the untied thread entwined together into a dead end, he could not untie, and then look up to find Ivan has stripped himself naked.

Gilbert opened his mouth, gulped, tried to say something and then found his tongue twisted up like the threads that hold the buttons together, silence is perhaps the best help. He held his breath and tugged twice, letting out a few impatient groans that became more difficult the more he used brute force, and Ivan started toward him at the sound.

"What's wrong with you? It's going to get colder if we don't hurry."

"I know!" Gilbert's two long legs apart were exposed to the air, and now he didn't feel overly warm, shivering slightly, "My buttons are tangled up, I can't get them off!"

"You're useless, Gilbert," Ivan laughed, grinning as he reached over to help him, while not forgetting to have a good time, "You used to need my help to unbutton your clothes, when they were much more complicated to design than they are now, and you still couldn't get it right."

A few angry growls rolled out of Gilbert's throat and he tried to swat Ivan's hand away, but the Russian was stronger than he was and didn't budge on his shirt. Some of the smell of smoke and leather sprayed on Gilbert's half-open chest, a red patch visible to the naked eye. Ivan watched carefully for a moment, Gilbert did a little useless work, wrapped those threads tighter, straight around the top of the button. Rubbing the modest buttons with two fingers, Ivan was able to release Gilbert's shirt with a little dexterity, and the disintegrating buttons clanked to the tile floor, the temperature rising as the warm air they exhaled made the dressing room feel like a fog.

He ran his tongue down the back of his teeth and trailed Ivan into the shower, ducking his head and taking a few careless rinses, Gilbert just wanted to get out of this place. The other side had invited many times, and the ex-Prussian would have enjoyed a solitary space more if that wasn't the only way to go. His stomach twisted, and the hot water pouring from the shower head at least drove away some of his fatigue, but the thought of someone else nearby made his sweat stand on end. Ivan, he looked over and the other man was unaffected, picking and choosing from a small basket, trying to find a bottle of something to wash his hair with.

"It's next door, stupid bear." Gilbert turned his face sideways, not used to seeing Ivan's naked body anywhere but a soft bed.

The Soviet raised an eyebrow, his smile grinning into an interested gesture, "Thank you, comrade."

Gilbert bit his lip, choosing to ignore the title, not really sure why Ivan had forcibly pulled himself from his workstation to take a shower, but the GDR was clearly expecting something more. What else could go between the two of them if the other wasn't trying to go further? Was he perhaps making a fool of himself, an extra layer of vague ambiguity with his colleague, or was it bad in this northern winter? As if fooled, Ivan was a little taller than him, dropping his eyes to look at him with more layers of observation and mockery, and Gilbert raised his head, trying to ignore the bastard completely.

But Ivan was clearly not going to let him get away with it. The man was the first to rinse off his body, crossed over behind Gilbert, and sat down on a small stool. He fetched a basin of hot water and once again made the small plastic baskets squeak and sting with the intention of getting Gilbert to turn off the tap and go to him. Gilbert slowly rubbed his scalp, doing a massage or something, he has not been so serious about washing his hair for a while, not to go to the haircut, bangs a little long, the water collapsed into a small curtain in front of the eye door, the Democratic German comrades would like to let the Soviet comrades to help him cut his hair when they have time. Ivan was not bad with his hands, and took a pusher to cut the hair of his fellow officers, and once a month a limited-time hair salon was opened in the lobby of the office. It was later that everyone was busy and he didn't know if Ivan was still doing it, and Gilbert hadn't seen him for months.

"Gilbert, come up here." Ivan's voice rang out as he washed away the head foam, could he not go? No, no one could defy the will of the Soviet Union, but Gilbert could stall, he mastered many sleek stalling techniques, and Ivan had a lot of patience with him. He still kept testing the bottom line, dawdling for a few minutes until Ivan slapped his thigh and a crisp clap sounded in the modest room, and Gilbert knew the bottom line had arrived. In one fluid motion, he turned off the water, wiped his hair, and moved the towel around his neck toward Ivan, with a small stool in front of the other man, just below the counter where he could lie flat, and he knew it was for him. The hot air was still bubbling outward from the wooden basin, and Ivan pointed to the chair in front of him, "Sit down, with your back to me."

It did not take much effort to sit on the small stool, but Gilbert still squirmed a few times, and then Ivan held his shoulders down and snapped them onto the top. He might have had steel spikes in his palms or magnets in his abdomen, and even without them he could feel the subtle hairs of sweat that gently kept him from moving. They use a long strip of scrubbing towels, and Braginsky took the hot water in the basin and dipped it, so a few seconds to greet Beilschmidt's bare back. That didn't hurt, the former Prussian grimaced in pain the first time he enjoyed the "personal service" and thought the Russians had some special fetish, Ivan laughed loudly at him. "Tender and delicate little gold," Ivan described him, and increased the force of his hands in a very good mood. But several times down Gilbert in this session has been used to, but he still twisted his buttocks uneasily, and his hand involuntarily reached back.

He felt he touched something, there was always an object against himself, without having to look to be able to know. "Comrade, you have to watch your nukes, don't just fire them." Beilschmidt licked his lips and deliberately leaned back again, the man behind him was not moved.

"I always keep it properly, don't worry about it." Ivan was rubbing his shoulder blades earlier, but now he was at his waist, and he was wickedly increasing the force of his hands, "How long has it been since you've bathed? See for yourself how much mud and dust are rubbed off."

But only two or three days, he is a good habit of showering every morning, but Gilbert silent, this level of bathing in the eyes of the Russians should not be considered. It was just a wall in front of him, nothing new to see, and Ivan kept up his own pace, a washcloth going from top to bottom, patiently helping him to deal with the dirt that had accumulated over time. Gilbert stared at the puffing and falling plaster, falling snow-like, just stained with the sewage, piled up nearby. There were thin streams on the wet floor, slowly washing away that fresh snow.

It's true that we haven't spoken for a while, we rarely go out together except for business meetings, and even the last time Ivan gave him a back rub was back when he was a Prussian, how long has it been? He felt the not-so-gentle force on his back while his skin was pulled up and put back down, the rough bath towel sliding over each furrow. Some growth lines, even if Gilbert is a malnourished thin man will have that thing, a bar across the bottom of the hip, wheat fields lying on the field, from barren to rich, Gilbert gently stroked there. Ivan rubbed it for him, too, just at a somewhat difficult angle, and he rubbed out a little, and Gilbert's fingers touched him.

Just when he still needs Ivan's warmth the other side avoided it and waved a hand toward the front: "Get up, you lie there."

Two streams of blood flowed in Beilschmidt's veins: rebellion and obedience. At the moment it was obedience that fought for the top, and Gilbert obediently did as he was told, making no sound at all and lying quietly on the platform. How did he look? Looking into Ivan's eyes he wondered this question. How does he look? Did his belly come out? Are the dark circles under his eyes coming up to his chin? Are the fingernails cracked? The GDR comrade was now a girl at the mercy of others, lying alone in front of his lover, but no one really loved him. Ivan sat down next to him, still holding the bath towel, and Gilbert wished he'd stop pinching the piece, he wanted something else, he didn't need this kind of pain in his chest, he needed a bit of trauma created by sharp teeth, a bit of skin scraped out by his fingertips, something hot, hotter than boiling water. Anyway, his skin was dry and molted like fish scales, and the Beilschmidt was an object that could be tossed around without destroying it. It started when he was not a GDR, such a decaying process, bleeding and healing slowly, perceiving little pain.

No pain, nothing dull, he wanted Ivan to tear him open, to cut him open, to possess him, to violate him, to crush him.

To eat him up.

But Ivan just repeated what he was originally doing again, being a hard-working scrub man, and Gilbert's forehead was white and scrubbed down with a blanket of dead keratin skin. He nudged Ivan and physically complained about him, as he did when he didn't want to talk, but what did he have to vent to Braginsky? Some country, some dignity, a power to continue his life, to come from the old times to the new order, and Beshmet wanted to bite his nails again. Already gnawed, a circle of marks left by sharp teeth, Ivan plucked away Gilbert's hand on his mouth, and he became anxious that Ivan no longer gave him what he was longing for, what he could not get from the other side. Dithering between liberation and patience, Gilbert needs to learn how to deal with anxiety, will looking at his colleague with wet eyes find a solution?

"You should stop biting your fingers, look, they're all broken," Ivan would also manicure his nails and embroider with small clippers, and Gilbert's hand was caught in the other's arms, "Let's put some moisturizer on you later."

No, I don't want that, it's too unattractive.

Gilbert wanted to say so.

But he felt Ivan's pecs and the wet, slightly curly hair on his chest, and compromised:

"Okay."

Probably needed a lot of moisturizing oil on his body, too; he knew Ivan liked to use baby oil, more moisturizing, he saw it in the little basket. The bath towel began to move down the front and the two nipples stood up, trembling and resting in the air. Gilbert looked down and Ivan gestured for him to lie back down, but the breasts were slightly swollen, the effect of the hot, wet swamp, I think. Sometimes he wanted to touch them again, to do something self-descent on his own single bed, but he couldn't learn Ivan's tricks anyhow, and Beilschmidt was a talentless fool in that respect. There are people who are better at that kind of thing, and a little better equipped, and Gilbert was annoyed that he wasn't one of those people, and God knows why he had to fight for everything. Only on this day did he make up his mind that he might as well give up and follow Ivan's wave, follow Braginsky's stream, and let the other guy take care of everything, foreplay, caressing and exploring, and Beilschmidt could try to please him in other ways. But the thought did not know how long it could stay, except that he was tired today and his eyelids started fighting before he even steamed up to the sauna.

Ivan kept going down, down, like an adventurous traveler, exploring a body that was not mature. Gilbert felt he still hadn't grown up, and at the end of his waking consciousness he began to think he was still an adolescent who needed someone to guide him. Reaching out as if he could touch Ivan's face, he wanted to touch it, to feel a physical object.

Ivan didn't duck and put his head into Gilbert's palm now.

But he still didn't stop, brushing over the abdomen, which was covered with dense scars, the heat and water spray forcing the epidermis to burst open, the silver forest growing on this soil of Gilbert waiting for him quietly. Those abdominal wounds, horizontal and vertical, the largest one is sewn up viper, intestines are faintly visible below. And similar to the incision caused only by caesarean section, stitches messy, if the democratic Germany can have a healthy womb, he may also be able to give birth to strong children. Pour should all be human, born and taken away from their mothers, to be taken for any research, or focus on training up to become a good successor. Heroic mother should have been born, from the womb fell out of the flesh and blood, melted into a river, and finally into the unfrozen harbor. But Gilbert's sex symbol is only a male, Ivan blinked, he held up and put back the intestines will disappear from sight into nothing.

Gilbert sighed softly twice, choked on his saliva again, and coughed violently. Ivan used his left hand to hold his head, so that the back of the youth's skull hit the hard plate, the right hand is gently rubbing the other side of the lower body. Not enough nutrition, even the hair is sparse, plucking a little to find the penis is not a difficult task. Gilbert covered his face, the Soviet Union held in the palm of his hand the lifeblood of all, at the moment are appeasing his long-standing desire. Regularly moving up and down, Ivan didn't forget to rub his scrotum as wave after wave of stimulation hit the gelatinous bodies in his spinal cord. Beilschmidt could hear some rushing water, was the light in the shower too harsh? It just felt bright, dispersing all the gloom, and the ugly him was in full view. Not even his arms could block the light that scrutinized him, and he saw dense patches of a Teuton, a principality, a kingdom, and friends and family who had left him and had not yet left him, and the last one was Braginsky, whose name he always hated to admit he would whisper in orgasm, but anyway closed his eyes, and the clearest and deepest figure etched in the furrows of his brain, the Just Ivan.

"Ivan ......," the water by the corner of his eyes did not know whether it was tears or mischievous moisture, Gilbert's voice was hoarse and shaky, "...... I'm going to arrive. "

It was a compromise, a renunciation, a begging, Ivan patiently marched a few more rounds, front to back, fingertips rubbing the very front, even before in bed, Gilbert has not been so vulnerable. There must be some mistake. In this environment so gentle that it seemed to be wrapped up in amniotic fluid, the air was thin and sticky, and the GDR could only live on the sustenance given by the Soviet Union. He wanted this, wanted to put aside his pride for a moment and rely on Ivan, something Gilbert had not yet done, but released his arrogance and insecurity in an ample climax after a week of continuous work for the project.

Why today? Gilbert was filled with only this one thought, and he thought and thought and thought, with water dripping down his face. A cloud gathered on the high ceiling and then the water fell down, that must be it, that's why Ivan had to drag him here today to take a shower. The project is not so important anymore, it can be too late to continue wrapping up after the weekend, Gilbert is so light that only skin and bones are left, and all the flesh dissolves, and the fat becomes a drinkable gumbo. Will they be wind or water when they die? Will the GDR be gravel or mountains? Would Gilbert be a solid or an imaginary state? He watched as Ivan picked him up and walked through a curtain of two or three doors, the sauna waiting for them at the back of the hallway.

There was supposed to be a staff member to help patrons come and pour water on the red-hot stones; today there was none, and the Soviet comrade himself did it for them. Gilbert was again placed on the platform, a wooden space, more welcoming than marble. The potion had been poured on, and the instant smoke out of the fog made him dizzy, so Ivan fed him something.

It was some pickled herring, and pickled cucumber, and Gilbert kept chewing those two foods in his mouth, and his throat was blocked. He could not swallow, and finally Ivan snapped his throat with his fingers and passed it on. It doesn't matter if the saliva is everywhere, he is probably long gone from this world. With his shame behind him, Gilbert only felt exhausted, the pungent smell of medicine and birch branches on his back, the most unacceptable before can be taken in stride. Russians in the sauna will be tied up with birch branches dipped in potion whipping themselves, or companions, this ascetic ritual has been retained to this day. Banish the sickness, exile the anxiety, just for a couple of seconds, Gilbert felt materialistic again. He groaned lowly, stretching himself forward with the frequency of the descending branches, and Ivan served him diligently, really thinking of himself as an employee of the bathhouse.

So why today? Gilbert should have forgotten something, something important, clearly there was nothing to celebrate, and he had no recent deeds to recognize, the drawers were dusty with medals, and Beilschmidt was not even home. Carried by a small boat of birch boughs up in the calm lake drift, Ivan is the pilot helmsman, Gilbert is his only trusted crew. He helped paddle as the water pivoted back and they needed to get through the herb-soaked mists.

He was really sleepy. Muttering some unexplained sound, Ivan ruffled his sweat-drenched bangs, towel has long been of little use. Holding on to the last bit of consciousness, Gilbert heard his lover handing him some kind of invitation, "Hair long? Perhaps it is going to be cut, "you ...... help me ......", the ear also came such a reply, the back pinched off, if he really only had so last breath left, Gilbert most want Ivan to help him do just to fix a messy hair.

Maybe even find some suitable memory fragments in the sauna, which is only used by two people. Gilbert was awakened by the cold water, he wrapped his arms around Ivan and tried to leap upward, not really awake, but his body involuntarily went to the nearest part of the heater. Opened his eyes to see half of his body has been soaked in the cold pool, the whole bath if seriously discussed, Gilbert's least favorite part should be this. He has never understood why the polar bears can endure the instantaneous transition from extreme heat to extreme cold, but if it is in the city has been much better, once in the countryside was pitched worse. Ivan pushed him into the fresh snow that had piled up and immediately flopped down beside him himself, and they wouldn't catch cold from it, but Gilbert was still uncomfortable for a long time.

He didn't want to bother with it today, though, and Ivan in the water was quite comfortable to hold, with Gilbert wrapped around him, and that was the only driftwood the GDR could hold on to in this situation. Braginsky propped him up on the hip and could feel the two restless hands. Gilbert had something to say, and he clung for a moment longer until his brain had managed to work before he spoke, "Why today?"

He wanted to know, so badly! What he had forgotten, what he should have remembered, the instructions he needed coming from Ivan. To be without instruction would be to lose the meaning of being a Gilbert Beilschmidt, the two so close that their noses were almost close together. He watched Ivan's eyes, not even daring to blink his eyelids, for fear of missing the subtle clues. Ivan was very good at lying, his face was not red, no one could tell, and Gilbert could only recognize a few muddled and perfunctory. He stared firmly, and Ivan stroked his rear end.

"You stop messing around and tell me quickly." Gilbert waited impatiently, the cold water around him was slowly heating up, Ivan remained silent and turned to kiss his earlobe. Another nibble, that was a courting signal. Gilbert would want to use words like that, more primitive, bringing them closer to animals, courtship and mating, probably more animal instincts in the national consciousness body than in humans. Tongue and teeth pulling there, Ivan bit down, blood breaking out of the surface. Usually he would soften his attitude a little and let some lingering visions arise between them, all only a few hours or days of tenderness, Gilbert should not have plumbed the depths. But today it felt wrong, very wrong, something was hidden by Ivan, and something exhaled from the other side. He wrinkled Ivan's nose, surprisingly bold, knowing that he would be allowed to do anything today.

"Gilbert ......"

"Hmm?"

"Let go ......" Ivan started using that soft vocal line again, compelling Gilbert to let go of the fingers he had imprisoned around his nose, "I'm going to be unable to breathe."

But where is the GDR so easily able to let go of the originator who wasted most of his day? There must be compensation, and anyone who is put on top of the calculator in Gilbert's mind will not be able to slip out from under his nose.

"Only no, you have to tell me first, what day is it, did I do something wrong?" Dominance then switched to Gilbert, who was perched on top of Ivan, his two legs impeding the other man's journey, making a qualified roadblock.

"If you want me to say it in that voice, then you would try." Ivan sighed and smiled again, jarring his voice and tightening his arms around Gilbert's back a little, "Happy birthday, Gilbert."

What? GDR let go of his fingers and he clapped his hands over his ears in disbelief as Ivan's voice returned to its normal channel, so he said it again. This time with a few kisses that fell on the corners of Gilbert's lips, fine lip hairs brushing over a moist jaw. Birthday, oh yes, he said it was my birthday. Gilbert finally knew what he had forgotten, but he hadn't had this for a while, there was actually no fixed day for them, not even that part of the memory yet, and suddenly one day he opened his eyes and was tied to the land. Humans crowned with their birthdays, Gilbert is not much interested, was arbitrarily fabricated to become whatever he can, if it makes those who live on his body happy, January can be his birthday, October can also pick out a day as his birthday. Many will have never-ending arguments about which one can be considered him, but Gilbert himself couldn't be clearer, and Ivan probably is, too, that they share similar secrets, each one of them, each one not quite them.

But it would be an excuse to extort a gift, and Gilbert couldn't let Ivan the bastard off easy. He was almost hanging on to Ivan, sleepy again, just lean on Ivan, he did not want to move again: "You stay overnight today?"

Ivan nodded, and kissed him several times, as if they were really that close. Gilbert nodded in satisfaction, a Russian bath, careful and attentive service and a fairly skilled lover, what more could he want for his birthday?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> RusPru actually is all my life and I really want to write as much fictions as I can on them.  
> I do write Chinese a lot, but this experience to translate into English still made me feel stressful.  
> Anyway, Ivan and Gilbert are the best!  
> Comments are welcomed!


End file.
